


Pinings for Comfort and Joy

by fractalgeometry



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hugs, Misunderstandings, Other, Pining, Queerplatonic relationship, Rated T for minor swearing, eventually, rather ridiculous pining, to the extent that they want to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: They had come to the agreement early on. Both of them had families that liked to get together for Christmas. Both of those families were equally prone to trying to set up their single children with anyone who seemed like a good potential match. Both of them hated it. And so the arrangement had been born.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 77





	Pinings for Comfort and Joy

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a conversation on the Ace Omens server, based around the idea “we’re roommates and have been pretending to be a couple for every Christmas since we moved in together, but I want it to be real and also it’s 2020 so we don’t get to even pretend this year”. Contains vague references to the pandemic because 2020, but is pretty much entirely pining and fluff, with a soft resolution.

Aziraphale clicked on the notification as soon as it popped onto his screen, belatedly realizing he hadn’t checked what it was. Immediately, a photo popped up onto his screen, captioned “Your Memories: December 10, 2019”. He was moving to close it — he really ought to turn off those automated notifications from his photo application — when the image itself registered in his brain and he stopped. 

It was a picture of him and Crowley, squished up next to each other on the sofa at his parents’ house, laughing. Aziraphale was trying to wrestle a Santa hat onto Crowley’s head, and Crowley was trying to fend the hat away without getting off the sofa entirely.

Aziraphale remembered that moment. He’d been so perfectly happy, in the warm house, with the people he liked best, two and a half full weeks off of work stretching ahead of him. Looking at it, he could almost feel the moment all over again. 

Crowley. Aziraphale’s roommate of nearly six years now. And, for a few weeks every December, his partner. 

They had come to the agreement early on. Both of them had families that liked to get together for Christmas. Both of those families were equally prone to trying to set up their single children with anyone who seemed like a good potential match. Both of them hated it. 

“It’s just not my thing,” Crowley had complained, and Aziraphale wholeheartedly agreed. And so the arrangement had been born. Each year they went to one of their families’ houses for Christmas. And as far as either of those families knew, Crowley and Aziraphale had been dating for all of those years. 

Only this year there was a pandemic, and they weren’t going to be getting together with family, or, indeed, anyone. So there was no need to put on their usual charade. 

Aziraphale was, perhaps, slightly more disappointed about this than he strictly should be. He wouldn’t have to worry about this being the year someone figured them out, after all. No wondering whether they were acting romantic enough. No kisses. No hugs. No cuddling on the sofa. No trying to foist a Santa hat onto Crowley-

Well. And there you had it. Aziraphale had, over the course of the half-decade they’d had their arrangement, discovered he quite liked some of the more partner-like things that he got to do with Crowley over Christmas, and the prospect of a whole extra year without was affecting his mood more than he’d like. 

The fact remained, however, that Crowley was not experiencing that same disappointment, and Aziraphale really ought to close the photo and get back to his work instead of going further down this path of wishing for things he could not have. Crowley was his friend. Even quite a good friend, after six years of living together. That was good. Aziraphale was happy with that.

He closed the photo.

~

_ “Isn’t it disappointing that you can’t come for Christmas this year?” _

Crowley leaned his head backward over the arm of the sofa, stretching his back. “Yeah.”

_ “It makes sense, of course, we have to be safe, but it was our turn and I was so looking forward to seeing you and Aziraphale.” _

Crowley made an affirmative noise.

_ “You’ll come next year, won’t you? Just push the switching off schedule back a year?” _

“You’ll have to take that up with Aziraphale’s parents,” Crowley commented. “Seems like it would make sense, though.”

_ “Are you all right, Anthony? You sound strangled.” _

Crowley sat up, unbending his back and, incidentally, his windpipe. “I’m fine.”

_ “If you say so.” _ His mum didn’t sound convinced. 

Crowley, knowing full well that if his voice was funny it was not solely due to the strange angle he had put his neck at, changed the subject.

After another few minutes of chat, his mum said,  _ “Oh, look at that, I have to go. Talk to you later?” _

“‘Course.”

_ “I love you, Anthony. Bye.” _

“Love you too, mum.”

Crowley tapped the  _ end call _ button and sighed. He  _ was _ disappointed that they couldn’t all get together for Christmas. He enjoyed seeing his whole family, making food and music and noise. But most of all, he enjoyed spending a whole two weeks as Aziraphale’s partner. Curling up together on the sofa, teasing each other over cookie-making, giving each other gifts. There were things about the ruse Crowley could take or leave, too. The kissing, for instance. The term “boyfriend”, that everyone insisted on using on them. Still, it was reliably a net positive in his life.

A net positive that he would have to go without this year, because there was no reason to pretend. It would just be him and Aziraphale in their flat, doing normal flatmate things, all season. 

Crowley was absolutely not wishing for something else.

~

“I just got an electronic mail from my sister,” Aziraphale said, coming through the doorway.

“Oh?” Crowley was more lying down than sitting up on the sofa, his ankles crossed on the back, laptop resting on his stomach. 

Aziraphale looked down at him. “She has apparently organized a cookie-baking Zoom party for the whole family, since we can’t do it in person.”

“Oh,” Crowley said again. “I’m invited, aren’t I.”

“You’ve been to every family holiday gathering I have for the last five years,” Aziraphale said. “You are definitely invited.”

“Cool,” Crowley said. “Hey, it’s an excuse to make cookies.”

“Like you need an excuse.”

“Only to avoid that  _ look _ you give me when I don’t have one!”

“What  _ look? _ I do not have a  _ look.” _

“You do,” Crowley argued, grinning. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

~

“We’re going to be late,” Aziraphale fretted.

“Aziraphale, it’s a Zoom call with your extended family. We can just claim technical difficulties.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Just open the application.”

“I’m in my email. Didn’t you forward the link?”

“All right, the meeting ID is two, eight, eight, four-”

Crowley laid his hands on the counter and very carefully turned around. “Aziraphale, did you  _ write down _ the meeting information?”

Aziraphale looked up from the piece of paper in his hand. “I couldn’t exactly bring my computer in here.”

Crowley stared at him. “I cannot believe that I-” he bit off the end of the sentence- “Fine. Fine! We’ll just ignore the existence of Zoom links, and the fact that you have an email-enabled phone, and-”

“The meeting ID,” Aziraphale said, in the tone of voice that indicated he  _ did _ know what Crowley was talking about, thank you very much, it just hadn’t been his first idea for how to solve the problem, “is two, eight, eight, four, nine, three, six, seven, one, nine.”

Crowley tapped the numbers into his tablet and stepped back as the call connected. For a minute he considered just letting Aziraphale deal with the greetings and checking-ins and catching-ups, but then he heard his name in the melee and realized he would have to join sooner or later. 

He moved into view beside Aziraphale, half-accidentally bumping their shoulders together on the way. 

“Hey guys,” he greeted, and did his best to field the barrage of noise that followed.

~

Aziraphale reached across Crowley and snagged the sugar container. Crowley, perforce, nudged Aziraphale’s arm upwards, ducking so he could see into the bowl he was stirring. 

“Do you have the cinnamon somewhere, dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

Still stirring, Crowley picked up the cinnamon and passed it over. He glanced at Aziraphale, then stopped stirring and brushed at Aziraphale’s arm.

“You have flour on your sleeve,” he explained.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, kicking himself for looking so startled. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t want you dusting it all over everything,” Crowley grouched, and went back to his stirring.

“So, Aziraphale!” his sister called from the Zoom window. “When are you two getting married?”

Crowley made an abbreviated, slightly garbled sound. Aziraphale set the cinnamon down on the counter slightly harder than necessary.

“That is none-”

“Mia,” their mother scolded. “Leave them alone.”

“Because you’re so good at that,” Mia retorted.

“That’s different.”

Crowley snorted softly. Aziraphale didn’t  _ think _ the microphone was close enough to pick up the muttered, “No it isn’t,” but he gave Crowley a reproving look just in case. Crowley smirked at him, set down his spoon, and headed off to wash his hands. On the way, he gave Aziraphale a peck on the cheek.

Aziraphale stood very still for a moment, reminding himself quite firmly that it meant nothing, it was just what they’d been doing — yes, and more! — for over half a decade, and that Crowley would never have done such a thing if Aziraphale’s family hadn’t been there.

By the time Crowley turned around from the sink, he had almost convinced himself of it.

By the time the cookies were baked and Crowley had brushed past Aziraphale several more times than seemed strictly necessary — not that Aziraphale hadn’t done the same thing, but Crowley wasn’t the one in love with the other — Aziraphale didn’t know what to think. 

The cookies, however, were very good.

~

“Stupid,” Crowley growled to himself. “Have a little subtlety.”

He was alone in his room at last, which meant he now had time to thoroughly go over the afternoon and take apart every detail. Such as the touches. The looks. The  _ cheek kiss. _

He was especially annoyed at himself for the cheek kiss. It wasn’t as though they’d never done it before, but they hadn’t really discussed how couple-y they were going to act today, and it probably hadn’t been strictly necessary. It’s not like everyone was watching their screens the whole time. 

Mia’s teasing question floated through the air and he winced.  _ When are you two getting married _ indeed. It couldn’t get that far. They couldn’t fake a marriage. And yet, how much longer could they pull this off without? Would they have to fake-break up? How would they explain living together after that? Could Crowley handle a breakup of any sort with Aziraphale without actually going mad?

Maybe, he mused, flopping dejectedly on his bed, he should say something about this whole tumult. Even if everyone else kept believing the ruse forever, Crowley was coming to the conclusion that  _ he _ couldn’t keep it up. He should talk to Aziraphale about it. 

God, what would he even say?  _ Aziraphale, I love you more than everyone else put together and I want to curl up with you on the sofa and never let go? _ Ha. Like that would go over well. And then Crowley would end up heartbroken and flatmateless in one afternoon. 

No, he’d keep his mouth shut. He wasn’t that much of an idiot. 

The fact that his brain kept coming up with more ways to tell Aziraphale all the things Crowley wanted to do with him was really just very rude of it.

~

Aziraphale tiptoed past Crowley’s closed door. The tiptoeing wasn’t strictly necessary — it was hard to make much noise in the hall — but it was late enough at night that it seemed appropriate. He didn’t want to wake Crowley unnecessarily. 

Only...it sounded as though Crowley was talking. Even he wasn’t usually awake at this hour, but perhaps he had gotten a call from a friend. Aziraphale continued past the door.

“I love you and I want to hold you very tightly and say- no, damn it, that’s creepy, Crowley, you stupid…”

Aziraphale stopped without entirely deciding to do so. It wasn’t that he was  _ eavesdropping. _ He was just-

“I’ve loved you for years, and it’s killing me to not tell you, so I’m- too  _ much, _ too  _ much, _ god you’re bad at this…”

What was Crowley doing? It sounded like a love confession, but a rather choppy one. Who would Crowley be professing undying love to at four in the morning?

“When you touch my arm I- holy shit, Crowley, absolutely not, what are you even  _ thinking…” _

Was he talking to himself? But then what was all the talk of love about…

Aziraphale felt something cold settle in his stomach. Crowley wasn’t confessing his love to someone at four in the morning. He was planning to do so. He was  _ practicing. _ Crowley was in love with someone, and he was planning to tell them, and Aziraphale was definitely not supposed to have overheard.

He found himself a little hurt that Crowley hadn’t mentioned such a person.  _ Years? _ They were friends, weren’t they? Crowley could have asked for advice, or at least said something about the idea.

And what would Aziraphale would have done? Would he have let the misery show on his face? Would he have been able to be properly encouraging? No. It was good that Crowley hadn’t told him. Aziraphale should never have known. He should have left as soon as he heard Crowley talking. 

He stalked back to his room and got into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He was fine. Everything was fine. Crowley  _ should _ go talk to the person he loved. And if they loved him back, if Crowley started spending his time outside the flat, if they got  _ married _ and left Aziraphale-

Aziraphale blew out a breath and turned on his side. He would not cry. He absolutely would not cry. 

He was already crying.

~

In the days that followed, Crowley gave no indication that he had talked to anyone except Aziraphale, let alone confessed a deep love for them. He behaved completely normally, sniping playfully at Aziraphale’s fussiness, contorting himself into stranger and stranger positions on the sofa, and somehow managing to act professional when he did actual work meetings. Aziraphale began to think — not hope, no, of course not, but  _ think _ — that the whole thing might have been a nighttime hallucination, or at least something Crowley had, in his more awake mind, chosen not to pursue. 

Try as he might, Aziraphale couldn’t keep it from making the lack of their fake relationship hurt all the more. He’d never really thought about what might happen to their arrangement if Crowley got into an actual relationship one day. He’d naively assumed that they would just go on like this forever, as long as Aziraphale didn’t do something stupid like tell Crowley how his feelings had changed over the last few years. 

Still, it was Christmas, and even if they were spending it as flatmates rather than partners for the first time in five years, it was good. Aziraphale baked more cookies, first out of a desire for cookies, then because Crowley said he liked the smell, and finally because he was bored and jittery and had to do  _ something. _ Crowley put up his black and red tree decoration on his door (“Oh,” Aziraphale had said the first year Crowley had it, “it’s a silhouette of a Christmas tree!” Crowley had given him the look that said  _ I know when I’m being teased, _ and Aziraphale had given him a perfectly innocent look and walked off down the hall), and Aziraphale covered every flat surface in the place with greenery. It was different from past years, certainly, but somehow still festive.

~

Christmas alone with Aziraphale was increasingly seeming like it would be Crowley’s breaking point. And wouldn’t  _ that _ just do wonders for his cool image? 

Well, he rather suspected he’d never had the cool image in the first place, but turning into a soppy lovesick idiot when Christmas came around seemed like a clear marker of whatever the opposite of coolness was. 

Against his better judgment, he’d gone so far as to rehearse ways to talk to Aziraphale about the whole  _ I’m madly in love with you _ thing. Unfortunately, all of the words seem to disappear with the coming of morning each day, and most of his rehearsed ideas weren’t anywhere near good enough in the first place. 

It didn’t help that Aziraphale had apparently taken it into his head to be as adorable as possible while simultaneously seeming almost to be avoiding Crowley. He kept spending his time baking, or decorating, or singing along to Christmas music...all the things that gave Crowley an almost unquenchable desire to hug him, or maybe tackle him onto the sofa, or something else of the sort.  _ Something _ to get the bubbly affection out. 

But Crowley was, at base, a coward. A coward who loved his flatmate, and would waste away with it before saying anything to the person in question.

Four days before Christmas, when Aziraphale came into the living room with a fourth kind of cookie to try, Crowley accepted that his demise was near.

~

Eating Christmas dinner via Zoom was, Aziraphale decided, less than optimal. When they all ate in one room it was never  _ quiet, _ exactly, but if you were busy eating for a few minutes no one particularly noticed your silence. Long-distance, though, everyone was talking all the time for fear of awkward silences, and as a result it was nearly impossible to carry on an actual conversation. Aziraphale eventually gave up and focused on his food.

Aziraphale was just considering excusing himself when Crowley’s brother Eric said, “I’m taking the iPad to the living room if anyone wants to join me for an after dinner sit-down. Really do the Christmas afternoon thing.”

Crowley set down his fork and gave Aziraphale a look. It was a familiar look, one that Aziraphale had seen countless times over past Christmases.  _ Is this a thing we’re doing? _

Aziraphale shrugged.

Crowley picked up his tablet and headed toward the living room. Aziraphale pushed back his chair and followed. They settled, slightly awkwardly, on the sofa, six inches between their shoulders. When they stopped moving, Crowley’s face was halfway off the video screen, which didn’t seem quite right, since it was his family they were visiting with. Aziraphale pondered briefly, but they  _ were _ pretending to be a couple for the evening. He could get away with a little physical contact. 

Aziraphale reached to the side and grabbed Crowley’s shoulder, pulling him over until their shoulders collided. Crowley made an aborted sound of surprise, but when Aziraphale stopped pulling, he didn’t leave. Gently, Aziraphale laid an arm across Crowley’s upper back and turned his attention back to the little box of noise that held the relatives. 

~

Crowley had fallen asleep leaning against Aziraphale. Crowley had fallen asleep on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and he had slid until his head was in Aziraphale’s lap, and Aziraphale had no idea what to do. 

Obviously his first priority was to not wake Crowley. He knew that his friend liked to stay up far into the night, and Aziraphale suspected that he regularly didn’t get enough sleep. If Crowley was going to sleep now, Aziraphale was going to make sure he stayed asleep. 

This was, of course, completely unrelated to the fact that the weight of Crowley in his lap was making Aziraphale feel all warm and fuzzy and affectionate.

One by one, people dropped out of the Zoom meeting. Some were putting children to bed, some needed to wash dishes. Some simply left. Aziraphale tried to do the same, but quickly discovered that he couldn’t reach the screen without disturbing Crowley, so he stayed. Besides, as long as they were on the call, Aziraphale could justify this...cuddling.

Eventually it was only them and Eric left. 

“He asleep?” Eric asked, smiling.

Aziraphale nodded. “I don’t think he sleeps enough at night.”

“Sounds likely,” Eric agreed. “You know, we’re lucky that he found you. You’re a good addition to the family.”

The lie burned under Aziraphale’s skin. “Thank you,” he managed.

“And the way you look at each other...all I can say is I want something like that someday.”

Aziraphale had long known that he was much more obvious about his feelings that he should be, but it still twinged a bit to hear it stated. All he said was, “He’s wonderful.” Then, as though the words wouldn’t stay in a moment longer, “I love him so much.”

Eric smiled, big and genuine and happy. “I can tell. It’s mutual. I know he adores you.”

“Does he?” Aziraphale asked before he could stop himself. 

Eric’s smile dimmed. “Yes? It’s like, the most obvious thing. Does he not say so? I know he’s not good with words, but it’s not that hard to tell your partner you love them.”

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out how to back out of this corner he had unwittingly walked into. 

Now Eric frowned. “Is there something I’m missing? I know there can be more to a relationship than meets the eye. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said quickly. “Everything is fine.”

Eric didn’t look convinced, and Aziraphale felt his heart sink. He’d let his guard down too far, and now he had to somehow get out of this. The problem was he was all out of fibs. He was tired of keeping secrets from their families. He was tired of keeping secrets from  _ Crowley. _ There were too many layers to this whole thing and Aziraphale couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

Eric eyed him. “Depends on the secret. If someone is getting hurt, I can’t promise that. But I’ll try.”

“We’re not together,” Aziraphale said in a rush.

Eric blinked several times. “What?”   


“I am not dating Crowley, or vice versa. We never have been. The Christmas ruse was just to make our lives easier.”

“But,” Eric said. He looked thoroughly baffled. “You love each other.”

_ “I _ love  _ him,” _ Aziraphale said miserably. “I’m just a flatmate to him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eric said flatly. 

“It is not!” Aziraphale protested, voice rising in exasperation. “I love him more than I can properly express, and he does not return that! That’s how it  _ is!” _

_ “What?”  _ Crowley sounded sleepy, but the shock in his voice was palpable all the same. 

Aziraphale felt something rather like a rock lodge in his chest. He looked down at Crowley’s stunned face, staring up from Aziraphale’s lap, and felt no words come to mind.

“You  _ love _ me?” Crowley demanded. He still hadn’t sat up, which Aziraphale supposed was an indication of how shocked he was. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale managed finally, and his voice was wobbly. “I’m sorry, I never meant to- I know you don’t- you should go tell the person you wanted to-” his voice gave out.

“You weren’t kidding,” Eric said from the tablet. He sounded wondering. “You’ve actually never talked about this.”

“What person?” Crowley asked at the same time, shock morphing into confusion. “What should I tell- you  _ love _ me?”

“I think this is my cue to skip out,” Eric said. “If I find out you two didn’t finish this conversation, though, I will do something drastic.”

Crowley swiveled his head and blinked at the screen. “Eric? What-”

“Kiss or something!” Eric yelled, and ended the call.

Crowley looked back to Aziraphale very fast. “You want to  _ kiss _ me?”

“No!” Aziraphale yelped. “I didn’t say that!”

“What  _ do _ you want?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I don’t see why we need to go into this. I’ve said I’m sorry. Please just...get up, and I will go and get myself together. It doesn’t need to affect anything.”   
  
Crowley sat up, but before Aziraphale could get off the sofa, Crowley’s fingers had encircled his wrist, holding gently but firmly. “Why are you sorry? What am I missing?”

Trapped, Aziraphale stared miserably at his lap. “I never wanted to burden you. You don’t have to- to make me feel better, or anything. Just-”

“Why wouldn’t I want to make you feel better?” Crowley sounded affronted. “I love you, and I’m not in the habit of leaving people I love sitting around unha-”

Aziraphale started and turned to stare at Crowley. “You what?”

“What?”

“You said you love me. Don’t- I can’t- Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Had I not said that? I thought I did, like, first thing.”   


“First thing  _ when?” _ Aziraphale demanded, feeling dangerously close to hysteria. “I made a mistake, I know, but then,  _ you _ love  _ me? _ Explain!"

“Well,” Crowley said, his steady tone rather undermined by the way he was squeezing Aziraphale’s arm, “it’s very simple. You are my- that is, we’ve been together —  _ living _ together — for such a long time, and I- god damn it, this is why I never said anything!”

There was a familiar tone in his voice, one Aziraphale had heard once before, in the hallway on a certain night. Several things fell into place very rapidly.

“Crowley,” he said very slowly. “You love me?” His voice cracked a little on  _ love. _

Crowley nodded.

“So it was- you were talking about  _ me, _ that night?”   
  
“What night?”

“When you were in your room, rehearsing something that sounded rather like what you just said.”

“You heard that?” Crowley looked like he was having too many thoughts at once and couldn’t figure out what to express.

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “I thought you were courting someone you hadn’t told me about.”

Crowley fell backwards against the cushions. “You thought I was- who would I possibly have been  _ courting?” _

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “I was rather upset about it. So I’m right? It was me?”

“Of course it was you!” Crowley shouted. “Who else do I know half well enough- who do I spend all my days with-  _ Aziraphale!” _

“It’s not like you ever realized I felt the same way about you!” Aziraphale retorted. 

Crowley went abruptly still. “You really did mean that?”

Aziraphale considered shouting some more, but instead he took a deep breath and said. “Completely and utterly.”

Crowley dove into Aziraphale’s arms. 

Aziraphale caught him and hung on, trying to pour his sincerity into the touch. Crowley hugged back fiercely, arms a tight band around Aziraphale’s middle. It was intoxicating. They had hugged before, of course, usually around Christmastime, but it had been the hugs of fake-boyfriends, genuine but hesitant, always aware of their audience, always thinking of other things.

There was nothing hesitant about this hug. It was raw, intense, honest. Crowley was pressed close enough that Aziraphale could feel him trembling, and Aziraphale thought he wasn’t faring much better himself. It was overwhelming, sitting here on the sofa with Crowley like they had so many times, except Crowley was in his space — or he was in Crowley’s, it didn’t really matter — and they both wanted to be there, and Crowley loved him. 

Finally Crowley sat up, tossing his legs over Aziraphale’s lap and leaning against Aziraphale’s side. 

“That was okay, right?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed, nestling closer. “Okay then. Uh, I should ask, when you say you love me, what does that mean?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “What?”

“Well,” Crowley said, “when I say it, I’m saying that I like you a lot and I want to hug you and spend lots of time with you and give you nice things and be, like, close. I don’t know. But I’m still not big on some of the other things people sometimes mean. So I need to know what you want.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale thought for a minute. “Much the same, I think. This is very nice, for example. I would like to curl up with you and watch television, and hold hands on walks, and things like that.”

Crowley nodded. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Well, no. I mean…”

Crowley twisted around to look into Aziraphale’s face. “What do you mean?”

“I’d like to kiss your forehead, maybe. Your hair. Not your-” Aziraphale hesitated- “your lips. Unless you want that.”

“Not particularly.” Crowley looked away again, leaning his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Sex? I know a lot of people-”

“Off the table,” Aziraphale said automatically. “I mean-”

“No, no, that’s good,” Crowley said hastily. “Agreed. Not my thing. Think you’ve probably heard that before.”   
  
Aziraphale had, but it was good to hear again, in this context. 

The minutes ticked by, the tablet screen dark in its place on the table. Neither of them moved.

Finally Aziraphale sighed, leaning back into the corner of the sofa, pulling Crowley with him. “I can’t believe you want this too.”

“I would point out that that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, but I thought the same thing about you,” Crowley said wryly. “How did we manage it?”

“A rather impressive amount of repression, I believe,” Aziraphale said. 

“Mm,” Crowley agreed. “Bets on whether Eric thinks we’re snogging madly right now?”

_ “Crowley!” _

“You know it’s true.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and flicked Crowley’s arm. “It is none of Eric’s business what we do on our own time.”

Crowley laughed suddenly. “Are they going to think we broke up if we stop kissing and stuff at Christmas visits?”

“Can you imagine,” Aziraphale asked, “if they think that we broke up and  _ now _ we’re faking a relationship?”

Crowley laughed harder. “We can confuse  _ everybody!” _

“You’re such a demon,” Aziraphale said, but he was smiling. “You know, we should probably go clean up the kitchen.”

“I see exactly zero reasons why I should stop cuddling with my favorite person in the world to go  _ wash dishes,” _ Crowley said. 

Aziraphale’s brain did a skip at  _ favorite person in the world, _ and before he knew it he was saying, “I suppose the dishes can wait.”

“That’s the spirit.” Crowley wormed closer until he was lying most of the way on top of Aziraphale, head pillowed on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I love you.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught, and he tightened his arms around Crowley. “I love you too.”

“Love you a  _ lot.” _

“So much.”

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Aziraphale could feel his smile. “Best Christmas yet.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this ridiculous piece. It made me very happy to write, and I hope that you enjoyed reading it. If you want to yell at the walnuts, or at me, or have anything else to say, leave a comment! :)


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